Under the Broken Sky Read online

but it flies out like impatient Horse.

  WATERMELON THIEF

  Asa and I walk home from school—

  the fields on both sides of us

  bulging with an almost

  ready harvest of watermelons

  and potatoes, cabbages and tomatoes.

  We walk through fields of lettuce—

  wheat heavy with husks,

  and that’s when we see him:

  a Manchu boy in rags holding

  a watermelon as big

  as his own head.

  I yell, Thief, thief!

  I start toward him

  with my bamboo spear raised high

  just like I was taught,

  and he takes off like a rabbit

  with the watermelon held

  above his head,

  a boy dirty and small,

  not much older than Asa.

  “Natsu-chan, he’s taking our watermelon!”

  Asa yells loudly.

  I whack him with the spear

  and he falls, still holding

  on to the watermelon,

  and he screams, “Riben Guizi,”

  Japanese devil!

  I kick him. Asa screams even louder,

  “Natsu-chan, kick him.” Then,

  “Don’t hurt him!” and he sputters,

  “Japan’s going to lose

  and when they do, I’ll kill you!”

  He lies like a Chinese, and I kick

  him for it. I kick him again and

  again and Asa kicks him, too

  but as quick as a rabbit,

  he jumps up, still holding the watermelon

  to his chest, and scampers away.

  I run after him but he’s gone,

  somewhere in the field.

  “I hope we didn’t hurt him

  too much,” Asa says,

  as she kicks a rock,

  but my face still burns

  like the chimney in wintertime,

  my heart beating fast: he’s a liar

  he’s a liar, but his words,

  Japan’s going to lose

  are ringing in my head,

  swirling and buzzing

  like big fat mosquitoes that keep

  whining in the middle of the night,

  and they just won’t go away.

  WALK OF DEFEAT

  White hens peck

  the invisible worms

  and seem to laugh

  at me as we walk

  by Auntie’s house.

  I kick them

  and they fly away

  in surprise.

  “You no good girl!”

  I hear Auntie’s voice

  ringing out from her hut.

  “I know it’s you, Natsu Kimura!

  I’m going to tell

  your pa!” And I stick

  my tongue out at her.

  Asa sticks her tongue

  out as well; then pulls it back

  quickly, “Don’t. Auntie’ll tell

  Tochan, and then, we’ll be

  in real trouble.” But I already feel

  a little better, not too much,

  but good enough

  to feel that I beat Auntie’s

  hens into submission.

  THE SEA OF GOLD

  I straighten my back.

  The wheat is almost ready.

  Two more days,

  and we will be busy

  with the harvest.

  Tochan seems miles

  and miles away,

  his back bent—

  the only thing I can see

  is his straw hat

  moving up and down

  above the sea of gold—

  and Asa at the edge

  of the field, chasing after

  birds that are trying

  to land on this golden ocean.

  I move my arms left,

  right, parting the waves

  of gold, I swim

  through the sea of gold,

  I swim closer and closer

  to Tochan and Asa.

  LIES TOLD LATE AT NIGHT

  I lick the tip of the pencil again,

  about to start another letter,

  when I feel Tochan watching me.

  The shadow from the lamp is making

  his chin waver but his eyes are steady.

  He says, “You look like your mother

  when you do that. She loved to write

  letters, and she would always lick

  the tip of the pencil, just like you do, before

  she began. Do you remember?”

  And I nod, though I can’t tell him

  that I don’t remember Kachan that much.

  Moments are what I have—

  how she would tell me stories,

  how she would stand by the well

  to crank the handle to bring up the bucket—

  but the only face of Kachan I remember

  is the photo on the altar, where she is smiling,

  and she’s never moving in my memory,

  like everything I remember

  about her is a series of photos.

  Six years is a long time to be gone:

  Kachan’s been gone half of my life,

  and all of Asa’s life.

  I lie to Tochan so that he doesn’t get sad,

  I lie to Tochan because I know he misses her,

  I lie to Tochan so I can will myself to remember.

  A MESSENGER IN THE NIGHT

  The knock on the door

  came late at night.

  The knock came

  as we were already

  asleep atop ondol,

  the heated floor

  in the shape of the Chinese

  character for river—

  three parallel strokes:

  Tochan to the left,

  Asa in the middle,

  and me to the right.

  After the knock came,

  Tochan got out of the bedding

  with a gun in his hand,

  and when he opened the door,

  the settlement secretary

  stood there, the hint

  of autumn wind swirling

  into the house,

  making me shiver.

  “Congratulations,

  you have been called

  by His Majesty our Emperor

  to serve the Empire,” he said,

  but he did not smile.

  His hand shook as he pulled

  out the akagami, the draft

  notice. “You are to report

  to the settlement office the day after

  tomorrow with all your weapons,

  food, and your horse,”

  he said, looking down.

  Tochan just stood there.

  My heart beat so loudly.

  After thousands and hundreds

  of heartbeats, Tochan bowed

  deeply. “Thank you

  for the good news. I’m honored

  to serve His Majesty the Emperor

  and our glorious Empire of Japan,”

  and he saluted smartly,

  the way he used to when he was

  joking, just like he said he had

  to do when he was drafted

  a long time ago when there was

  no war. He said he hated

  the army except that he was never hungry

  like he was at home.

  Only this time he wasn’t joking.

  This time it was serious.

  I should’ve been happy

  that Tochan was called to serve.

  But why is it that even after

  so many hours, even after Tochan

  and I went back to bed, that I can’t sleep?

  I feel something heavy

  on my chest, like someone is

  stepping on it and I can’t breathe.

  But I know I’m not the only one:

  I hear Tochan moving, tossing

&n
bsp; and turning. Asa lies there

  with her mouth slightly open.

  PROMISES TO TOCHAN

  Tochan calls Asa and me

  to sit in front of him.

  “This is very important,” he says,

  and opens the old military backpack.

  He takes things out one by one:

  the family registry form,

  birth certificates,

  deeds to the house and land,

  passports for three,

  dried umbilical cords, family seals,

  the black lacquered tablet

  with Kachan’s otherworldly

  name beautifully written in gold ink,

  Kachan’s ring and small gold

  fillings he had kept after she died,

  postal saving books, family photos.

  Then he pulls out the handgun

  from under the pillow and puts that

  in the bag. “Repeat after me,”

  he says, and makes us repeat

  the address of his family in Japan.

  “Remember this,” he says.

  “If anything happens, grab

  the bag and run as fast

  as you can and find Auntie.

  There’s a chance that our settlement

  may be attacked.”

  “By whom?” Asa asks.

  Tochan looks at Asa, then me,

  like he’s trying to figure out

  how to say things he doesn’t know

  how to answer. Then, “It may

  be the Chinese. It may be

  the Soviets. It may be the Americans.

  Go to Auntie’s. She will take you two back

  to Japan if something happens.”

  He pauses and looks straight into my eyes.

  “And if there’s no one left,

  you need to stay together and go

  back to Japan on your own.

  You know how to use the gun

  but use it only when you have to, Natsu.

  Asa, you have to

  listen to your big sister,

  you two have to stick together,

  no matter what.” He stares

  at us, making us submit to his order.

  We stare back. I nod. I understand.

  TIGERS TRAVEL ONE THOUSAND LI AND BACK

  With a red thread and a needle,

  I sew a stitch, then tie a knot

  on the back. I’m not sure who

  Tochan will be fighting.

  I sew another stitch.

  Not the Soviets; they’ve signed

  the treaty with His Majesty

  the Emperor, promising not to fight.

  Each stitch follows

  the outline of a tiger

  I drew on a cotton fabric.

  Not the Manchurians—

  why would Tochan fight

  them when we’ve been

  their friends ever since

  Manchuria was created

  fourteen years ago,

  five races as one.

  Senninbari—needles

  of a thousand people—

  a good-luck charm every

  soldier is supposed to keep.

  Not the Americans;

  they aren’t here yet.

  Tigers can travel one thousand li

  and back, they always come back.

  Like Tochan, who will travel

  one thousand li and come back.

  So who is Tochan

  supposed to fight?

  THE NIGHT PUSHED AWAY

  The room is slowly turning white.

  The night is slowly being pushed

  back to where it came from.

  Auntie’s cock crows once,

  then twice, singing of the morning

  just around the corner.

  Asa is curled up and Tochan lies

  with his arm around her.

  I make my last stitch

  and the tiger moves in the light.

  MY MIND LIKE THE RUNNING HORSE

  My mind doesn’t stay still.

  I can’t sit still.

  The sun rose all too

  early, and I hear

  Tochan get out of bed

  like any other morning,

  and Asa sucks on her thumb

  and Tochan tries to pull it out,

  but Asa keeps pushing it back in

  and he smiles and lets her be,

  just like any other morning,

  like all the mornings in the world.

  Tochan raises his eyebrows,

  like he’s asking me a question,

  “Did you sleep at all?”

  I rub my tired eyes. I want

  this morning to last

  as long as it can.

  A PRAYER RICE

  I put the freshly cooked

  rice, burning hot,

  in my hand

  and make it into a ball

  the size of the biggest

  potato with both hands,

  pressing, saying a prayer

  with each press:

  Tochan, stay safe.

  Tochan, come home soon.

  And a rice ball comes out of a prayer,

  and I line them up

  in my lunch box,

  three of them just like us:

  Tochan, Asa, and me.

  THE ELDEST SON

  I take tea out to the barn

  like Tochan does

  every morning.

  But this morning

  he’s getting Horse ready

  for a journey. The air at this hour

  carries a hint of fall

  still a distance away

  but crawling closer

  like the last chime of the school

  bell when you are late.

  He turns around

  and smiles and takes

  the cup from my hand.

  I put my hand on Horse

  as she nuzzles her cheek

  against my head.

  “Tochan, take care of her,”

  I tell him, and he laughs,

  “She’ll probably take care of me.”

  He turns away and takes a brush

  to Horse’s back. Heartbeats

  translate into seconds,

  into minutes passing,

  and the time only goes forward.

  Suddenly, he says,

  “You can ride Horse like a boy

  and you can farm like one, too.

  You’re like the boy I never had.

  Now that I have to leave,

  you are the chonan—the eldest son.”

  Something stings my nose,

  and I look away so that he won’t see

  my eyes welling up,

  “I need you to be strong.

  I need you to be brave.

  No matter what.”

  All I can say,

  so that the tears won’t fall,

  is “Tochan, fight well,”

  and I hand him the senninbari,

  my stitches uneven and big.

  His face seems to crack,

  like the glass window during the coldest

  winter nights, and he says,

  “You’re old enough

  to understand when I tell you

  that I may not come back.

  Be strong, Natsu.

  You’re the only one

  who can look after Asa.

  You’re the only one who can take

  her back to Japan.”

  And he pulls me close to him

  and holds me tight.

  He smells of the late-summer prairie

  and the Manchurian soil

  and cabbages and earth

  and sleep he didn’t have.

  “I promise I will come find you,

  no matter where you are

  in the world, I will find you two,”

  he whispers, “I’ll come back alive.”

  Horse stomps her hoof.

  I bury my face in
Tochan’s chest

  to stop the time from moving forward.

  MR. SOLDIER, MY TOCHAN

  We walk toward

  the school, Asa riding,

  Tochan leading Horse

  while I walk next to him.

  “Be good,” Tochan tells Asa.

  “You must listen to Natsu-chan,

  because Tochan has to go to war.”

  And Asa claps her hands

  and then salutes,

  “Mr. Soldier!”

  Tochan laughs and salutes.

  The sky seems to widen

  with his laughter

  and I wish this walk

  will never ever end.

  WHAT TOCHAN TAKES WITH HIM TO THE WAR

  Three rice balls in my aluminum lunch box;

  a senninbari I had made for good luck and for speedy homecoming;

  a photo of me and Asa;

  a bag of carrots for Horse;

  Asa’s drawing: Tochan, Asa, and me sleeping in the shape of the river;

  a little pouch with a strand of Kachan’s hair;

  a rifle and all the ammunitions;

  a water canteen;

  a rucksack with his fur coat rolled up inside;

  Horse;

  a photo of Kachan;

  my prayer and love.

  LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR

  The schoolyard is filled

  with all the neighbors.

  There’s Masa-chan and her father,

  short and bundled up in a fur coat

  though it’s sweltering hot.

  There’s Kazuo’s father,

  tall, his bald head glistening

  with sweat. There’s Yoshiko’s brother

  who can carry a colt on his back

  and walk to the next settlement and back he’s so strong.

  There’s Taro, Auntie’s son, and Auntie scolding

  him as she always does, and as always, he is smiling

  like he’s not really hearing a thing.

  There are fathers and brothers

  standing, milling about with their rifles and horses.

  There’s Toshio passing out

  Japanese flags he drew on papers.

  There’s the settlement leader with a clipboard,

  counting heads and calling out names.

  I stand close to Tochan and hold his hand,

  big, warm, and hard like Horse’s hooves.

  Everyone is saying good-bye.

  Everyone is saying, Fight well for the country.

  Everyone is saying, Long live the Emperor.

  I’m supposed to say, like my teachers taught me,

  Be brave and kill as many enemies as you can,

  but these words don’t sound true,

  though I’ve written them dozens

  and hundreds of times to soldiers I don’t know.